


I fall and I fall and I fall for you

by Kandakicksass



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon divergence (?), M/M, Mostly sex. Sex and emotions., Set in S5, emotions and sex in that order, or - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7587787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kandakicksass/pseuds/Kandakicksass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin wants Mordred. Mordred trusts Merlin, even if he shouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I fall and I fall and I fall for you

"I want you."

It was so very late, and Mordred's chambers were dark. The small fire had burned out hours ago, and all he could make out of Mordred's face were his eyes, wide and fathomless in the low light. The moon shone through his window, just enough to see vague shapes and impressions of objects. 

Mordred didn't understand his purpose at first. It was very clear in his silence, his lack of response. However, his silence was not protest, and though he should have been tensed he was not. 

"Okay."

The agreement was neutral, but not in a way that made Merlin wary. Merlin knew that Mordred wanted him, had always wanted him. Whether it was Merlin or Emrys he desired was yet to be seen, but Merlin had a suspicion there was no distinction in Mordred's mind. He had known going in that Mordred would agree, that he would never turn Merlin away.

Merlin went forward, steps nearly silent, and Mordred welcomed him by shifting to make room, reaching for him with one hand. Mordred had always reached for him, but Merlin had never reached back. 

Merlin, even then, wasn't really reaching back. His hand wasn't poised to hold onto Mordred; it was curled around a knife. 

His real hand, the flesh and blood hand that wanted and hated that it did, took Mordred's, and he placed his knee onto Mordred's bed. He slid into Mordred's space. 

Mordred's hand was warm and slightly sweaty and he laced his fingers through Merlin's. He didn't ask why Merlin was there, or why he changed his mind about wanting Mordred dead. Perhaps he realized that Merlin hadn't. 

"I trust you," Mordred said, answering Merlin's unasked questions. He shouldn't, Merlin thought, but he brought forward their clasped hands and kissed Mordred's knuckles. 

"I just want tonight," Merlin said. He would make no promises. Mordred didn't react. He'd expected that, had known that there could be nothing real between them, no matter how tangible their connection seemed in that moment. "I want to have you," Merlin added to clarify. To many, there was no dignity in being had. Merlin did not share that opinion, but he would have Mordred regardless. He couldn't stomach anything else, not tonight. 

"You can have whatever you like," Mordred murmured, almost demure. There was no resistance or displeasure in his tone. 

"You'd let me possess you?" Merlin murmured in return, curious but not combative. Not mocking. 

Mordred understood. "You may have any part of me you like. You're welcome to all of it," he answered, and copied Merlin, reaching forward to kiss at his knuckles. 

Instead of responding to the intimacy, Merlin just hummed. "Take your clothes off, Mordred. Let me see you." 

Mordred acquiesced, sliding off the bed and walking around, so that he stood in the moonlight, just bright enough to be seen. 

His hands were deft, his fingers nimble,  and his clothing slid off like water, revealing more and more pale skin with every lace undone. It wasn't necessarily erotic - he was like art, and the exposure of his body didn't arouse Merlin so much as make him sick with admiration, with something close to love. Beautiful things were easy to love, and Mordred was so very beautiful. 

"Do I please you?" Mordred asked, stepping forward, out of the moonlight and into Merlin's range. Mordred reached out for him again without waiting for an answer, taking his hands and bringing them to his torso. Merlin took the invitation, smoothing his hands over Mordred's body. 

Merlin had always been weak for this, for the hard muscle and soft skin of a man's body. It was more than weakness in that moment - it was Mordred's skin, and with it Merlin was almost defeated. 

He slid his hand up, admiring his chest, his nipples, the hollow of his throat. Merlin brushed over his neck, wincing at what was to come, and cupped his cheek. His other hand slid to Mordred's hip, pulling him forward. 

"Kiss me," his boy who wasn't a boy whispered, and Merlin complied. Mordred's lips were warm and gentle and eager. Merlin wondered if it would be easier on himself for Mordred to be rough, but he was not. He was sweet in a way he rarely showed in the daylight. Merlin tried to ignore his own pleasure, for it settled uncomfortably in his belly with guilt, but he couldn't help but delight in Mordred's mouth. 

Mordred did not ask for permission to disrobe his visitor, but his hands tugged at Merlin's shirt, fought with the laces of his breeches until Merlin was nude and soft for Mordred's touch. "I have long wanted you like this," he confessed, breathed, into Merlin's mouth. 

"Since I saw you again, I wanted you," Merlin answered, confession for confession. The truth felt like a betrayal on his lips. 

Mordred kissed him again, harder but no less sweet. The edge was desperation and his passion was only want. He bracketed Merlin's lap with his knees, perched gently, the warmth of him soothing and enticing. If he had only known admiration for Mordred's body before, he knew lust then. He was convinced that even the most enthusiastic chasers of women would lust for this once they'd had a taste of Mordred's body. 

His hand found the dip in Mordred's spine and slid downward, petting lightly. Mordred didn't fight him - he curled forward, pressing his face into Merlin's neck. It wasn't from arousal, though Merlin could feel him, straining against where Merlin himself was beginning to strain. Mordred's face was hot, perhaps with embarrassment, but he whispered encouragement against Merlin's neck. 

"We need something," Merlin said instead. In spite of everything, he had no wish to cause Mordred undue pain. "To... to ease the way."

Mordred understood, and pulled away, twisting and leaning over to grab oil from his nightstand. Merlin almost wanted to tease, to ask what he used it for, but the thought only made him hotter, and the tease would seem awkward and out of place in the current atmosphere. 

It was not the time for teasing. 

Merlin slicked his fingers with oil, sliding his fingers back down to where Mordred was warm and hidden and untried, but Mordred did not stop him. 

He started with one finger, and felt the shudder that went up Mordred's spine. Mordred still did not complain. 

Merlin had hated him and distrusted him, had spoken against him and been cold to him, and yet Mordred let him into his most secret place and only shuddered against him when he played with his body. 

Merlin pressed another finger inside of him, resisting the urge to rock his hips forward when Mordred whimpered into his shoulder, lest he unsettle Mordred.

"There's a spot," Mordred told him, hoarse and quiet and overwhelmed. "When - oh, gods - when you touch it, it feels like fire in my veins. I never want you to stop." 

It was an unbearably intimate thing to say, a vulnerable thing to say. Even seasoned lovers of men would very rarely admit something like that, and then only to long and loyal partners.

Merlin knew then that he would burn for Mordred for the rest of his life. He would remember this and let the fire eat him inside. 

"Imagine," he said in return, voice strange and unfamiliar went to himself. "Imagine when I am inside of you, imagine how good it will be then." 

Mordred panted against his skin, his hips twisting experimentally downward. The movement Merlin's fingers slide deeper, and Mordred gasped at the feeling. 

"Emrys," he whispered, a prayer, and Merlin kissed Mordred's shoulder, and pulled away. 

"On your back," he instructed, and whether or not Mordred was ready for him he did as he was told. He waited for Merlin to blanket him, and spread his thighs wide when Merlin moved to do so. It was an unbearable sight, like everything else he'd seen in the moonlight there. 

He waited patiently, hardness curved against his belly, muscles trembling, thighs welcoming and spread. Merlin had never been so welcomed to another man's body before. He had never been wanted so much. 

He took the invitation, sliding his hand up one lightly haired leg, and rubbed over the warm, thin skin at the crease of his groin. He ran his fingers over Mordred's entrance, ran them up and over Mordred's arousal. 

Mordred arched slightly, belly rising with his hips. 

Finally, Merlin went forward, settled Mordred's legs around his waist. If anything, they urged him forward, knees bent and locking him in place. Mordred wanted him there, wanted to be the body that cradled Merlin within it, station be damned. He was not a knight in that moment - he was a lover. He was Merlin's lover, and he wanted to be loved. 

Mordred said nothing, but he reached out and touched the taut muscles of Merlin's stomach. He sighed shakily, his want written in every line of his body. 

Merlin had no will to resist - he had come for this, after all. He slicked himself with the oil, wrapped a hand around himself and made a soft sound when he acknowledged that his hand would not be his pleasure that night. 

He settled himself, raising Mordred's hips onto his lap, and when he finally pressed in, Modred screwed his eyes shut tight but did not complain. It had to have hurt - Merlin knew that he was the first, and not everyone could be easily prepared with two fingers. 

Mordred did not pull away. 

Merlin planted a hand next to Mordred's head to prop himself up, and Mordred grabbed onto it, not resisting but simply holding on. He sighed when Merlin pulled his hips back and rocked in again, his muscles relaxing. It was as if he was forcing his body to obey, and it worked, because when Merlin rocked forward again his back bowed once more, a soft cry falling from his lips. 

"Your mouth, Merlin," Mordred whispered, leaning up for a kiss, and perhaps the use of his given name was what made a hungry noise escape him before he took Mordred's offering. 

Mordred kissed as sweetly as he spoke, his tongue still tart with wine from dinner, and his hips rolled as if he had no control over them. It was the sort of kiss that had to remain private, open mouthed and panting. Merlin's tongue swept into Mordred's mouth, licked over Mordred's own, and he wished for nothing more than a world where he could have this, all the time. 

Merlin did not hate Mordred. He just wished he did. 

Merlin moved to Mordred's neck, leaving bruising kisses over it, the same sort of opened mouthed kiss that left the skin underneath red. The thought made him wish he could see Mordred's face properly and appreciate his pink lips turned cherry. 

He gave Mordred everything, held him and touched him and rocked against him with fervor, needing the body underneath him. He slapped Mordred's free hand away from his length and worked at him with his own until Mordred was trembling in his grasp. When his thrusts seemed to not be enough, he ground into Mordred's body and rolled his hips against that spot within him, over and over again. 

He knew it would end eventually, knew that he _couldn't_ have Mordred forever, and when his grinding hips finally pushed Mordred over the edge, Mordred's open mouthed, silent gasp spurred him into finishing as well. 

He managed a few more thrusts, each less smooth than the last, until finally he stilled above Mordred. He watched Mordred's trembling ease, watched him come down, and without wanting to, he reached up slowly. 

Mordred's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist before he could reach Mordred's neck, and in that moment Merlin realized Mordred knew and had probably known the whole time. He'd probably seen it in his mind when he'd walked in. 

He waited for Mordred to struggle, to fight him and push him away - to push until Merlin slipped free from his warmth and ended whatever this had been. 

He didn't. Instead, he lead Merlin's hand to his throat and covered it, pressing with his own fingers until Merlin's hand was wrapped around it. 

"I trust you," he whispered. 

Merlin's hand tightened ever so slightly, and he closed his eyes. "You have to die," he said, wishing he sounded firmer, less anguished. 

"I trust you." 

Merlin shook. "It's for the good of this world." 

"I trust you." It was softer, a breath, but no less honest. Mordred's mind was opened to him. There was no deception, and little fear. 

A tear slipped down Merlin's face, dripped onto Mordred's cheek. "I have to this. I need to protect Arthur." 

"Emrys," Mordred whispered, and what Merlin could see of his expression when he opened his eyes was painfully genuine, open devotion. "I trust you."  _Do what you must_ , he added silently.

He made a tiny, disbelieving sound. It was more of a sob than anything. He tightened his fist until Mordred coughed, until he wheezed for breath, until his chest heaved underneath Merlin's body. 

Merlin kissed his cheek, his nose, the corner of his open mouth. He was straining for air but not fighting. 

Mordred's words, his trust, echoed in Merlin's head, louder and louder, until his face was wet with tears. 

He couldn't do it. 

Mordred coughed harshly, hand flying to his throat, body trembling in an entirely different way, and when he gasped a breath, his body curled just enough for Merlin to slip free from his body. He just pressed in closer, crying, pressing his face into Mordred's shoulder. He kept the hand that had been around Mordred's throat far away, grasping at the sheets. 

"I need to, but I can't," he told Mordred, his own piece of agonizing honesty. Mordred wrapped his left arm around his shoulders, drew him in closer. He didn't speak - and he probably wouldn't be able to properly for a few days. Merlin shuddered to think of how badly he'd bruised Mordred's neck. 

"You have to leave," Merlin whispered. He couldn't kill him even to save Arthur, and so Mordred must go somewhere where his threat would be diminished. 

"Come with me." Mordred's voice was low and raw. "Keep me safe from my own destiny." 

He didn't reply, but he knew what he would say. 

He pressed his mouth to Mordred's skin, and breathed. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ending is ambiguous for a reason, but I like to think that Merlin goes with him. Even if, realistically, he wouldn't.


End file.
